


better dig two

by notebookpapers



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Character Death, I'm trying here, M/M, Suicide, listen this is my first time writing angst, no beta we die like hisoka, potential manga spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notebookpapers/pseuds/notebookpapers
Summary: He was the one who approached Illumi with the engagement ring - simple, but elegant, and so very Illumi that it would have been a crime to leave it sitting in the shop window any longer. It was never going to be much of a traditional proposal, but he and Illumi have never been much of a traditional couple, if they could even be called one. Hand in murderous hand, they marry, ‘til death do the two of them part.Death, for Hisoka, finds him bruised and battered on a Wednesday evening, somewhere just north of the outskirts of Yorkshin.
Relationships: Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	better dig two

**Author's Note:**

> hhh so I have no idea how to write angst, nor do I have any idea how to write characters who operate on absolutely batshit morals like these two do. Basically, full disclosure, this isn’t my greatest work, but I’m posting it anyways because why not. Also, I haven’t read the manga yet, so this may not be completely in line with canon. Hope you enjoy it, anyways!

Hisoka dies at Illumi’s hands. 

He knows it’s coming, of course. He asked for this, didn’t he? He was the one who prepared the contract. He was the one who approached Illumi with the engagement ring - simple, but elegant, and so very _Illumi_ that it would have been a crime to leave it sitting in the shop window any longer. It was never going to be much of a traditional proposal, but he and Illumi have never been much of a traditional couple, if they could even be called one. Hand in murderous hand, they marry, ‘til death do the two of them part.

Death, for Hisoka, finds him bruised and battered on a Wednesday evening, somewhere just north of the outskirts of Yorkshin. 

Hisoka fights to keep breathing as Illumi draws one last pin from the fabric at his breast. He, too, is bruised and bloodied, but victorious, just as Hisoka expected he’d be. Illumi rolls the head of the pin between his fingers. He’s confident in his kill. He always is. And yet, even from where he lays dying, Hisoka can see the way his hands waver around the pin, like he wants to withdraw from the touch of it. 

He’s stalling.

  
  


As any good Zoldyck will tell you, there are rules to be followed, for any good assassin. For one, assassins don’t need friends. Assassins don’t need a favorite partner in crime. Assassins don’t need emotional attachments to anyone who isn’t family.

And yet, Illumi drops to his knees beside him. He pulls his bleeding head into his lap, and cups a hand to his star-covered cheek. 

Hisoka coughs, sputtering blood onto both of their clothes. Illumi’s eyes lock with dying rings of amber, and Hisoka takes a few moments just to look at him. After the bloodlust and chaos of the fight, the contrasting breeze whispering through the air suddenly seems deafening.

“I’m going to kill you now,” Illumi says, finally, voice cold and distant. “It will be mostly painless. It will be fast.”

Hisoka laughs as much as his lungs will allow him. It comes out as more of a wheeze, but he supposes it’ll have to do. “And if I told you to make it hurt,” he half-teases, even as the breathiness of his voice betrays him.

“I won’t do it,” Illumi denies, voice as stern and no-nonsense as he can manage. “Per the terms of our engagement, if I win, I get to decide how you die.”

“You’re no fun,” Hisoka smirks. 

“Ah. But you married me anyway.”

Hisoka means to laugh, only his organs fail him halfway through the motion, leaving him choking on a cough as more blood splutters from his throat. If Illumi’s hand shows affection in the way he gently brushes away the red from the corners of his lips, neither one of them acknowledges it. 

Assassins don’t show affection for their victims. Assassins aren’t supposed to do a lot of things. But two can keep a secret, Hisoka supposes, if one of them is just as good as dead.

He flexes the fingers in his left arm. The movement is stiff, but he grits through the pain to reach up and curl a lock of Illumi’s hair around his finger. The same arm abruptly decides it won’t be moving anymore, and lands unceremoniously on his chest, lock of hair still in hand. 

Illumi readies the pin, properly positioning it against the right artery. Hisoka closes his eyes, lets himself feel the pressure of it against his skin - cold, sharp, insistent - and then it’s pulled away. He has half a mind to make a quip about not going easy on him, only when he opens his eyes, he finds the words falling silent in his throat (and this time, it’s not because of a partially-crushed airway).

He’s not sure if he’s ever seen Illumi look quite so vulnerable before.

When Illumi speaks, it’s quiet. The words are spoken privately, like sweet nothings whispered between lovers in the afterglow. “I almost loathe to admit it,” he sighs, “but my life will be significantly less entertaining without you.” 

A beat. 

Hisoka’s eyes widen, and Illumi mirrors the expression, as if not quite believing his own confession.

If Hisoka had the strength to stumble through another laugh, he would. “My, my,” he says instead, voice still playful, even as it breaks at the edges. “You really have gone soft, Illu, dear.” A half-smile. Illumi’s hair cascades over the both of them as he leans down, and the gentleness of it is a sharp contrast against the patchwork of wounds on each of their bodies. “Soft and beautiful.”

The prick of the pin is grounding as Illumi repositions the metal at his neck. His eyes wander back to Hisoka’s. His other hand stays, cupped, on Hisoka’s left cheek. 

“Goodbye, Hisoka.” Illumi whispers, and time comes to a standstill.

The pin hits its mark perfectly, just as it always will.

Another lifeless body at the hands of Illumi Zoldyck.

  
  
  


The only difference is, this time he stays.

  
  
  


Illumi holds him as he goes. He stays, even after the hand curling around a lock of his hair goes slack. He stays, even after he watches glinting gold irises become dulled and clouded. He stays, until the last rays of the sun bleed from the sky, and the rest of the world sleeps.

He stays, until the stars are the only ones left to see him cry.

  
  


-

  
  


Illumi has him buried in the family cemetery. His mother and father don’t approve, but the engagement is legal, and grandfather allows it, so they let Illumi have his way. 

Illumi doesn’t quite know why he does it. He’s not quite sure why he wants a place for Hisoka’s body, not sure if Hisoka would have even wanted it. He doesn’t hold a funeral, doesn’t bring flowers. He doesn’t bring anything, save for a pack of that signature bubble gum he’d found at a shop on his way back from a job in Yorknew.

He finds himself visiting the grave, wordlessly, knowing he wants to be there but not being able to find a good enough reason why. 

  
  
  
  


Assassins, you see, are not supposed to grieve for their victims.

  
  


-

One night, under the starry skies of Kukuroo Mountain, an assassin digs a hole into the dirt of his family cemetery. It’s not dissimilar to the other holes he’s burrowed himself in before: small and narrow, and just deep enough for him to poke his head out of. He takes off his shoes, before stepping in, and wiggles his feet in the grass, like he’d done as a child. When he steps inside, the shoes are left on the moonlit ground, above. 

The assassin leaves a letter in the mail stack for each of his siblings, even the ones who refuse to speak to him. On the mansion’s vacant, dusty dining table sit letters for his parents and grandfather. A will, printed in perfect penmanship, sits on an empty bed in the upper right wing. A formality, really, that’s all that it is. He hopes the money will do his brothers some good.

Under the starry skies of Kukuroo Mountain, an assassin lets his gaze linger on his husband’s grave as he pulls a pin from the cloth at his breast. A practiced hand positions it against his neck, cold and ready and waiting. He reaches a hand towards his husband’s grave, and lets his lead lean up, towards one last glance at the sky.

  
  


The stars look inviting.

  
  


-

  
  


One night, under the starry skies of Kukuroo Mountain, an assassin buries a needle into his neck, and sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I wrote this fic in November and it is now February and I have absolutely zero memory of initially writing it but I found it in my drafts so I decided to briefly edit it and here ya go! I’m not really good at writing angst or at writing characters like these two, so if you have any constructive criticism, please let me know!
> 
> fic name is from the song Better Dig Two by The Band Perry


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